


The Legend of Cold and Dark

by Merrypaws



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Crossover, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrypaws/pseuds/Merrypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ROTG/Legend crossover. Pitch Black, the lord of nightmares, is set on creating a world ruled by fear, and possessing the young ice prince Jack Frost. But Jack is no helpless maiden, and most of all, he has friends that are more than a bunch of bumbling forest creatures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ROTG kink meme fill.](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=5116757) The requester wanted a re-telling of Ridley Scott's 1985 fairytale fantasy 'Legend' with ROTG characters. I was only too glad to mix an old favorite with a new one.
> 
> You don't need to have seen the movie to read this, but I wager you'll get more out of it if you have. I'll be using a lot of lines straight from the film, but the story won't follow the movie script exactly.

Jack hummed happily as he floated under the canopy of the forest. He smiled at a pair of little birds that took advantage of the wind carrying him, chattering all the way. Terrible little gossips they were, birds. Or so he had been told. But since it seemed that the whole forest always knew he was here within minutes of his arrival, he wasn’t inclined to doubt it. In fact, it was downright convenient, since it meant that he rarely had to look for the person he came to see.

And, speak of the devil…

Feigning nonchalance, the frost spirit landed lightly in the middle of an opening, smiling a little at the delicate whorls of frost that formed on the moss as soon as his bare toes brushed it. He had again abandoned the ugly, pinchy shoes the servants always tried to force on him as soon as he was able to evade his tutors, but otherwise, he was dressed for a day at the court. The flowing sleeves of his pale blue tunic hung almost to his knees, and the snowflake motif on his midnight blue vest was stitched in what might’ve as well been real silver spun into thread.

Something moved in the undergrowth, darting between the trees in a blur of grey. Once, Jack had been alarmed, remembering his nanny’s stories of wolves that roamed the wild. But when he had first seen this particular woodland creature face to face, his fear had died away to make way for curiosity and fascination.

Since the other seemed to be content to play cat and mouse for a while longer, Jack skipped over to a small stream that ran through the trees, leaving a trail of sparkling white footprints on the green. With a wave of his staff he conjured a light snowfall to dust the ferns that spread their feathery fronds over the water, and laughed as they dipped under the extra weight.

“Hey, hey, knock it off!”

Eyes far too wide and innocent, but his grin full of mischief, the white haired boy turned around and smiled up at the creature that was glaring at him from its perch on the high roots of a great old tree, furred fists set on his hips and long ears twitching.

"I'll have you know, that we're just wrapping up spring here, so you just keep all that snow to yourself, mate."

"Always the spoilsport, eh Bunny?"

The pooka rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the tug at the corner of his lips. The younger spirit seemed to have that effect on people. Or perhaps it was just him. He leaped down onto the rocks beside the stream in one bound, and jabbed a finger at the winter spirit.

“Oh, rack off, you show pony. I just spent three months coaxing all the plants into full bloom, and I’m not having you undo all my hard work.”

Jack stuck his lip out, pretending to be hurt.

“But you like your work! So shouldn’t me freezing a few acres so you can do it all over again be just a plus?”

Bunnymund’s eyes widened and his ears folded back. “You wouldn’t d-“

But before he could finish the sentence, his field of vision was filled with a bright grin and even brighter blue eyes, and a chilly fingertip poked his nose. 

“Gotcha.”

The pooka stepped back with a huff, running the back of one paw over his nose to dispel the tingle left by the cold contact.

“Don’t you have people to torment at the castle, Frostbite? Do you have to come all the way here just to have someone to annoy?” he muttered grumpily.

Jack’s eyes took on a softer light and he looked at Bunnymund very earnestly.

“Bunny, this place holds more magic for me than any palace in the world. I would never do anything to endanger it.”

Bunnymund arched a brow, his sour mood easing and some playfulness returning at the honesty he could see in the snow sprite’s eyes. “Is that a fact?”

Jack took to the air, hovering so that he was level with the pooka, his head tilted coyly. “Don’t you trust me, Bunny?”

The other was so close that Bunnymund could see the slight dusting of frost that clung to his eyelashes, and the guardian of spring felt no trouble at answering: “I trust you, Jack.”

The blue and white apparition held the eye contact a moment longer, before he turned away, fiddling with his staff with a light coat of frost on his cheeks.

“Besides, here I can learn all sorts of things that in the town many people don’t even believe.” he quickly turned back to the previous subject. He shot the furry guardian a sly grin. “Maybe you’ll teach me to speak rabbit next.”

“Not today.” the spring spirit smiled. “Today, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

________________________________________

Somewhere, in a place wrapped in the darkness, footsteps like hooves wrapped in silk approached a lone figure on a throne. A grey skinned hand extended out of the mass of blackness and stroked the back of one finger over the nightmare’s muzzle.

“What news, my pet?”

No words were given in reply, but still a pair of dimly glowing eyes and a fanged smile separated themselves from the shadows.

“Finally. He’s here.”

________________________________________

“What is this place, Bunny?”

Jack looked around. They were currently standing in a small glade that was perched on a cliff overlooking the river that ran through the forest. 

“A place I like to visit sometimes. But the reason I brought you here today is that I know certain someone will be passing through here today. In fact…” Bunnymund peered into the distance, bringing a paw up to shade his eyes.

“Yeap, right on time.” he smirked, pointing somewhere above the trees on the far bank.

Jack squinted against the sun and tried to see what the other was referring to. For a moment, he thought it was a trick of the light, but soon he realized he really was seeing what appeared to be a golden cloud. As the sparkling yellow mass grew closer, he could discern a figure in the middle of the cloud. 

When it drew near enough that the winter spirit could clearly see a short, rounded man in the middle of the swirling golden dust, Bunnymund stepped forward and shouted: “Oi! Sandy! C’mon down, I’ve got someone for you to meet!”

The little man looked down and a smile of recognition appeared on his round, smooth face as he spotted the pooka. The cloud started quickly descending, dissolving as it went, until only the little yellow man was left hovering a few inches above the grassy ground.

Bunnymund turned to his younger companion. “Jack, this is an old friend of mine, the Sandman. Just call him Sandy, it’s what he prefers.”

Series of symbols appeared over the Sandman’s head, all formed from the same golden sand he himself appeared to be made of. Bunnymund rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“You’ll have to excuse him, he doesn’t talk much.”

“I… gathered as much.” the frost sprite chuckled.

Jack imagined he could hear little bells as the creature of golden sand turned towards him and smiled.

“I am Jack Frost, a winter spirit. Nice to meet you.”

The small golden man’s eyes widened, and with a quick rustle of sand a question mark appeared over his head, quickly melting into a small crown.

“Uh… Yeah, that’s me, prince Jack Frost, king Lunanoff’s son.”

The snow sprite laughed as the Sandman quickly conjured himself a top hat, which he took off as he bowed deeply. 

“Oh, stop that. If I wanted people fawning over me for my title, I would be back at the palace, not mucking about in the woods.”

With a grin and a snap of his fingers, Sandy dispelled the hat.

“I’ve… heard of the Sandman before, but a lot of the stories can’t seem to really agree on what you look like and what exactly you do.” Jack offered, little awkwardly. “Some say you bring good dreams, and some that you fight the dark spirits that bring nightmares.”

Sandy held out both hands, as if weighing two unseen objects, then shrugged. A bit of both.

“He and his work take many forms, but all the same, he is made of dreams, and he makes dreams.” Bunnymund summed up, settling down on the grass.

Jack perched himself on a nearby rock. “Still, it’s an honor to meet the guardian of dreams himself.” 

Sandy held out a shushing hand, and then pressed a palm to his chest with a smile while he gave another small bow. The small image of a crown appeared over his head again.

“Well, okay, suppose it’s not exactly everyday occurrence meeting a prince, either. Especially in the middle of the woods.” the frost spirit conceded.

Bunnymund leaned back on his hands with a sly grin. “Are you sure you’re really a prince, Frostbite? Isn’t running off into a magic forest to play with talking animals the kinda thing more suited for princesses from those fancy old storybooks?”

Jack shot a glare at the smirking pooka, but then smoothly picked up the game. “If I was a princess in a story, I would be expected to run into some kind of a nasty thing in the forest, and then be rescued by a handsome woodsman.”

Bunnymund snorted, but his ear gave an interested twitch towards the winter sprite. “A handsome woodsman, eh?”

Jack paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Maybe not a woodsman. I would be a princess, after all.”

Both of the pooka’s brows went up, and it was a near thing that his mouth didn’t fall open. Sandy arched a curious eyebrow at his old friend. He studied the guardian of spring for a moment, then glanced at the frost sprite, then back to the pooka, and his smile turned just a touch sly.

The prince hopped down from his stone, idly pacing back and forth as if in deep thought. “Maybe a noble knight, searching for a beast to slay to prove his worth. Or a lost prince, even. That would be closer to my stature.”

Huffing, Bunnymund turned to the Sandman. “Stature? Can you believe this guy?”

Sandy only shrugged and then quickly turned to fluffing up his sandy sleeves so that the forest guardian wouldn’t see him smiling.

Jack twirled his staff mock innocently, and stole a glance at Bunny, who appeared to be singularly unimpressed. Sandy on the other hand looked like if he’d had a voice, he’d be having a hard time holding in his laughter. But never mind that, he was on a roll:

“Either way, he would of course be immediately enthralled by me. But as a princess, I would have the right to set a challenge for my suitors.”

Bunnymund was fairly sure that at this point it was only morbid curiosity that made him open his mouth. “Oh? What sorta challenge are we talking, here?”

“Why, I’d send them on a quest. Something doable, I wouldn’t want them getting hurt or failing if I genuinely liked the guy, of course. Like… Like…” 

The prince trailed off, trying to quickly come up with some suitably princess-y task he would set a suitor on. He tapped his forehead with his staff, and when the wood gave a sharp tap against something solid, an inspiration struck. He brought a hand up and removed the diadem on his head. It was what he referred to as his ‘off-duty crown’. A simple hoop of silver that sat comfortably on his head, unlike the heavy ornamental thing he was forced to endure for formal occasions. Everyone in his family had one, each done with a unique design to suit its carrier. Like Jack’s, which sported a single, intricately carved snowflake that sat in the middle of the young spirit’s forehead.

Jack turned back to the other two with a smirk.

“Like that I will marry whoever finds and brings me back this circlet.” he said, idly twirling the headpiece on one finger.

Sandy stole a quick glance at the pooka, and then collapsed with silent laughter. Bunny stared at the piece of spinning silver intently for a moment, but then seemed to shake himself out of whatever had crossed his mind.

“Bad idea, mate. You know your father would have fourteen kinds of a fit if y-“

A simple flick of Jack’s wrist, a move that looked so natural it could’ve been perfectly involuntary, sent the circlet sailing through the air. It bounced once, with a happy metallic ‘ting’, rolled, and just as Bunnymund lunged forward, tipped over the edge of the cliff and into the river below.

“Oh, such a bad luck! I know how you hate water.” the frost sprite grinned unrepentant.

The pooka shot a glare at the princeling, then turned back to stare down at the river as he climbed back on his feet. Then Bunnymund turned to Jack again, and now it was the pooka’s turn to smirk. Jack had just enough time to wonder what he was up to, when the powerful grey furred legs bunched and then sent the forest dweller into the air.

“BUNNY!” Jack screamed as he saw the pooka plummet towards the water far below and disappear in a huge splash.

Jack turned to Sandy, who had also floated over to the edge of the cliff. The Sandman arched a brow at the prince, who could feel frost collecting on his cheeks. 

“I didn’t think he would really do it.”

The golden man simply rolled his eyes, but when he returned his gaze at the younger spirit, his eyes suddenly went wide in alarm. Jack spun around, heard the hiss of sand behind him –

And then everything went black.

________________________________________

Dripping but with a triumphant grin, Bunnymund hauled himself up the hill, the diadem held in his hand. He probably wasn’t going to hear the end of this if lived to be million, but DAMN if he wasn’t going to enjoy the look on Frostbite’s face as he handed him back his stupid crown-thingy.

“Jack!” he called out as the cliff from where he had jumped came into sight. With a last burst of speed, Bunnymund crashed through the underbrush into the opening with a laugh.

“Jack, looks like you need a better challenge if you want to weed out the commoners, ‘cause it sure didn’t take a prince to… to…”

But the glade was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack woke up with a groan.

His first fuzzy thought was why was he lying on the floor? Even if he had simply passed out somewhere, the servants would have moved him to his own bed. 

The next thing to register were the odd sounds coming from far away. Strange echoes and distant whistling of the wind in narrow spaces. Blearily, he pushed himself upright, wincing a little at the rough gravel that bit into his palms as he did so. The slight sting was enough to wake him up further, and he managed to crack his eyes open.

The darkness bearing down on him stole the breath from a startled gasp.

The place he was in, it wasn’t quite a cave and not quite a room, was spacious, but oppressive in a way that had to do with more than the rough, windowless stone walls. A few smoking torches flickered in their mounts on the walls, but it did little to dispel the gloom. Darkness clung to everything like a living thing, and occasionally shadows moved in the far corners without anything visible to cast them. And from somewhere out of sight came the faint sound of things moving, more slithering than walking.

The prince made an instinctive motion to grasp at his staff for security, only to come up empty. Panicked, he looked around, groping half-blindly the ground around him, but it was no use. The staff was simply gone.

“Oh dear. Have you lost something, perhaps?”

Jack whirled around at the unexpected voice, and there, in the small circle of half-light cast by a guttering flame, stood a man. His grey skin stood out as a patch of twilight against the dark, the trailing end of his black robe melting into the shadows near the floor. 

The man didn’t look all too scary to be honest. The way he carried himself and even the little, arrogant half smile mostly reminded the prince of the courtiers in his father’s palace. But still something about him set his mind on edge. There was something about his eyes, the way they glowed even in the dim light, taking everything, revealing nothing. And the way they were focused sharply on Jack. 

“Who… are you?” he asked tentatively.

The man blinked, appearing surprised, then he chuffed a small laugh, bringing one hand up to tap a long finger on his forehead, like he was gently scolding himself for some oversight.

“Ah, yes, pardon me.” he stepped forward and smiled in what might have been amicable manner, but still seemed to be all fangs to Jack.

“I’d forgotten we haven’t been properly introduced, though you’ve probably heard of me. You are of course Jack Frost, prince of the Lunar kingdom.” here the stranger dipped into a graceful bow, that still somehow seemed mocking to the frost spirit. “And my name… is Pitch Black.”

Jack couldn’t help the catch in his breathing, anymore than the instinctive backwards step. “The Nightmare King?”

The dark creature smiled again, but this time he didn’t even try to put a mask of friendliness on it. “The one and only.”

Jack shivered slightly. Pitch Black was a name that was only ever spoken in a frightened whisper even behind closed doors. The demon who lived off fear. The shadowed flash in a dark corner, and the nightmares that came from it.

But Jack had been a whole lot younger, when his father had taught him one important lesson:

Nightmares only have power as long as you are afraid of them.

So the frost spirit drew himself up from his half-crouch, facing Pitch directly, and assumed his best ‘arrogant royalty’-face. He kept his sight trained between those silver-yellow eyes, even as they flashed dangerously at his sudden display of bravado. Another thing his father had taught him: If you are nervous about meeting someone’s eye, but can’t afford to look weak, stare them between the eyes, and they’ll think you’re looking them in the eye.

“Fine, since we now know each other, you mind telling me why am I here? And while we’re at it, where’s my staff?”

The shadow king’s lips pressed together unhappily, but he seemed to shake the brief disappointment off quickly. “For now, you only need to know that you’re here, because I wanted you here. As for that little twig of yours… Well, let’s just say it and the Sandman were the last pieces I needed for a certain… pet project of mine.”

Jack’s eyes snapped wide open. “Sandy?”

Pitch started slightly, before his smile returned, and now he looked more like a wolf that had gotten the scent of blood than ever.

“Oh my. Don’t tell me you forgot him so soon?”

He waved a hand, and on one side the shadows parted. The prince blinked at the sudden golden glow, which was enough to make his eyes water after the darkness of the dungeon. When his vision finally cleared, he gasped in very real horror for the first time.

The Sandman was sitting on the floor, struggling feebly and looking a little worse for the wear. Tendrils of what appeared to be black sand were wrapped tightly around his rounded form, effectively trapping his limbs and even the golden sand he created in an inky web.

“Sandy!”

The dream guardian looked up as Jack rushed forward and renewed his struggles, but before the prince could reach the other, two huge, black creatures rushed out of the shadows and drove him back with snapping teeth and flailing hooves. Jack stumbled before regaining his balance, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of his friend past the guarding nightmares. Sandy tried to form symbols of his sand, but each attempt was snuffed out by the black sand all around him. Finally he settled to just shaking his head vigorously with a grim look on his face. “Sandy, c’mon. I can’t just leave…”

With a pleased hum, Pitch snapped his fingers and the darkness closed over both the Sandman and his guards again. Jack rushed forward, but his hands met with nothing but a solid wall. Furious, he rounded on the Nightmare King.

“What are you doing? What do you want from us?” he demanded.

Pitch sighed theatrically, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Jack, I am the lord of fear, and the creator of nightmares. I require the solace of the shadows, and the dark of the night.” 

He stalked closer to the winter spirit, finger raised like he was giving a lecture. “The Sandman, with his happy little dreams is my natural antithesis. The light of day makes people forget their nightly terrors, but not the flimsy, hopeful fantasies he brings. Sunshine makes my powers melt away like mist. But all this shall change.”

“What?” Jack was so puzzled by this declaration that he didn’t realize how close the dark creature had gotten, before his chin was suddenly grasped by thin, but strong fingers, and his face was turned up until he was staring straight in the eyes of fear itself.

“Tonight, the sun sets, and tomorrow it shall rise. But the dawn shall never again bring hope to either the mortals or the immortals of the world.”

And with that, he was gone, simply melted into the shadows. For the first time in his immortal life, Jack Frost felt what the mortals referred to as the cold chill of dread run through him.

________________________________________

 

Bunnymund trudged through the snow, stopping to rub his paws together to keep the blood flowing. Ice was forming between his toes and his cold-stiffened muscles ached with the strain of running through the deep snow banks. 

"I really thought I was done with all this for one season." he muttered bitterly as he pulled a jagged piece of ice from his paw, grimacing slightly when a few strands of gray fur came off with it.

The pooka rubbed at his arms vigorously, but the action did nothing to quell the cold ache in the pit of his stomach. No matter how much he might hope, this was something different than an ordinary cold spell. His every sense was telling him that this was unnatural kind of cold. Some desperate part of him wanted to believe this was just a prank of Jack's, but the frost prince had never managed anything of this scale. And moreover, Jack was fond of all the little creatures of the forest, almost as much as Bunnymund himself. He wouldn't freeze them all to death just for fun. 

And neither Jack nor Sandy were anywhere to be found, though he’d been searching for what seemed like hours. 

Bunnymund shook his head to chase away that thought before it could take root, and crouched down to take off again, when a noise caught his attention. A rustle, or maybe a crunch of snow beneath a careless step. Bunnymund's shoulders tensed, and his paw slowly moved closer to his body, into position to make a grab for his boomerang. Another rustle. Large ears twitched just slightly, trying to pinpoint the noise without alerting its maker that the pooka knew about them. 

Someone... no, several someones. Circling... inching closer... Behind!

Bunnymund spun around, boomerang in hand and a snarl on his face, when a booming voice halted him:

"Ho, Aster! Wait!"

The furry forest dweller's paw flexed instinctively on his weapon as a huge figure pushed its way through the undergrowth into view, but his shoulders slumped in relief as his mind, belatedly, put a name and a face to the voice. 

"North."

Other beings moved into the clearing in the wake of their leader. Yetis plowed deep furrows into the snow, while the small elves skittered easily along the surface, only to occasionally tumble into the grooves left by the large, furry creatures. Faint buzzing from above drew the pooka's attention, and he looked up to see a flock of small, brightly colored faeries hovering overhead. One of the faeries came forward, and in a brief flash of light, in the place of a tiny bird-like being, faerie queen Toothiana herself hovered, surrounded by her feathered band. Bunnymund nodded his greeting to the lady, before turning back to the large, coarsely furred man.

The former bandit spread his arms in a gesture that was probably meant to encompass the whole forest, a smile splitting through his beard.

"Hello, Bunny. A nice weather for the time of year we're having, yes?" the giant of a man chuckled at his own joke.

The pooka snorted. "Yeah. Peachy."

Right on cue, a shiver traveled through his lean body, and his damp fur tried in vain to fluff up to keep him warm. Toothiana moved closer with a worried frown and gasped as she laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Bunny! You're soaked to the bone!"

"'M fine." Bunnymund muttered stubbornly, but he couldn't help a grateful sigh as one of the yetis came forward and threw a woolen cloak over his shoulders.

Toothiana pursed her lips sternly, but her eyes were warm. "I'm sure you are, you bull-headed bucktooth." 

North watched the exchange between his friends with amusement, but then his eyes darted about and he sobered.

"Bunny, you're alone? Where is Jack?"

"Yes! Where is he? Have you seen him?" Tooth and her faeries crowded close, some bolder ones even tugging on the pooka's ears.

Bunnymund's shoulders stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. 

"What makes you think I'd know where the bloody show pony is?"

North crossed his massive arms and narrowed his eyes at the pooka, but the blue eyes beneath his bushy brows twinkled.

"Bunny, a leshy is no less aware of the going ons of his forest than a pooka. All the animals were abuzz about the ice prince being seen flying through the woods. And he always comes to see you first when he visits."

The grey furred forest spirit looked to the side, pulling the cloak closer with a huff.

"Okay, fine, so I met Jack earlier."

North and Tooth exchanged a glance, not that Bunnymund noticed, because he was resolutely not looking at his friends. 

"I heard that Sandy was around, so I took Jack to meet him. But then I... well, I turned my back for one minute, and they were both gone. And the next thing I know it's the bloody new ice age!"

The white bearded man and the faerie looked at one another again, but this time there was no humor in their eyes.

"And this weather," North started, weighing each word carefully, "you're sure it's not Jack's doing?"

Bunnymund shook his head vehemently. "No way, mate. The Frostbite's all about fun, but he knows where fun ends. He wouldn't freeze the whole forest just for a joke."

The leshy stroked his beard for a moment, appearing deep in thought. Then he turned back to the pooka, his face very serious.

"You say that Jack was with Sandy when you left them, and when you returned they were both gone, yes?"

Unnerved by the other's sudden grave manner, Bunnymund only nodded. The large man's brows furrowed.

"Bunny, this is important. You must take us where you last saw them."

Tooth hovered, looking uncertain. "North-"

The white bearded man held up a hand, effectively silencing the fae queen.

"There is a possibility I don't wish to speak. Not until we know one way or the other."

Swallowing down a heavy lump that seemed to try and lodge itself in his throat, Bunnymund turned to lead their mottled troupe back to the glade where he had met with the prince and the Sandman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some trouble deciding what kind of a creature North should be, but then I remembered a book of Russian fairy tales I'd read, where there appeared a creature called 'leshy'. Apparently, the leshy was an 'old man of the forest' type of a figure, the likes of which are found in many cultures. If you were polite to him, you'd never get lost or lose your cattle into the forest, but if you angered him, you could expect wild beasts to destroy your crops and kill your animals.
> 
> As for the 'former bandit' bit, well, I've heard some stories about this or that person getting lost in the forest or dying out on a particular mountain, and becoming sort of a guardian spirit to the place. I'm claiming artistic license.


	3. Chapter 3

The king of nightmares sat on his throne, idly tracing invisible lines on the armrest. He really should’ve been preparing for the biggest even of his dark existence, but he found himself in the strange state of anxiety, where one feels the need to do many things at once, but can’t seem to get started on anything. His thoughts chased each other around in his head, but they seemed to always return to that one specific point:

Jack Frost.

“I hold the world in my grasp, and yet this… child distracts me.” he muttered to himself with a small, self-depreciative chuckle.

He cast his mind backwards to when he’d first spotted the bright young spirit. He’d been even younger back then. It had been mid-winter, the princeling’s favored playtime, and he had been making the most of it. Pitch had watched with nothing more than a cursory interest, until something had happened to momentarily upset the little frost child. There had been a flash, a blast of cold that made even the keeper of fear flinch, and then… He had looked up and been left speechless. 

A huge tree had turned into an ice sculpture. Every leaf, every branch was encased in a thick, glass-like layer. The little prince had hovered in midair, staring in amazement at what he had done. He had reached out to touch one bough, the surprise almost turning into a smile. But at the lightest brush of curious fingers, the whole branch had simply snapped off the tree and fallen down with a sound like breaking glass. The whole tree had shuddered briefly before falling apart in a bright shower of shattered ice and a rumble of great chunks that came down like an avalanche.

Oh, how delicious had the boy’s horror been as he realized, most likely for the first time, just how much destruction he could cause, with but a single careless swing of his staff.

Apparently, it was a lesson well learned, for the little spirit had been more careful from then on. But Pitch remembered... Oh, he remembered. And as he checked on the boy at intervals, and saw him grow, both in body and in power, he started imagining. What could one do with such power at their fingertips, if one was not afraid to use it?

He hadn’t outright lied to Jack when he’d said that he’d wanted the winter sprite under his power, but it honestly hadn’t been a part of the original plan. But when he’d gone with his nightmares to capture the Sandman, and found the slim pale youth he had so often watched from afar in the same place…

Well, one could hardly fault a man for grasping an opportunity with both hands when it presented itself, could they?

Then, down in the dungeons… There had been something almost viscerally exciting about seeing the boy sprawled on the ground, the contrast of his pale, soft features and the hard stone made the flickering shadows look like they had been caressing his skin. And then, facing off fear personified, unarmed and in a strange place and he’d still been more worried of a stranger he’d met only some hours previous than his own safety.

Such purity fascinated him. 

“What am I to do with you, Jack Frost?” Pitch murmured under his breath.

Oh, he knew what he wanted to do, alright. 

He pictured in his mind the ice-blue eyes sparking up at him defiantly, and his tactile memory immediately summoned up feel of a pulse fluttering beneath the impossibly soft, white skin as he grasped the prince’s chin.

But no, he could not simply keep the boy. He knew how beautiful things kept locked away tended to lose their luster. 

A smile crept over the Nightmare King’s face, and he nodded to himself.

He would have to woo the prince. Tempt him. And as he slowly won him over, the snow spirit would never even know of the darkness growing in his heart until he had already learned to cherish it. To crave the touch of silken shadows and the hush of eternal night.

________________________________________

 

North looked around as he emerged into the small clearing.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah, we’re here, mate.” Bunnymund replied tightly. Looking at the snow-covered land, it seemed like it had been years since the three of them had sat in this place, teasing and laughing. 

“And how did you get separated from Jack and Sandy?” 

The pooka froze in place. 

“Errr…” His eyes darted towards the edge of the cliff. Toothiana flew over and peered down, then turned back to the furry guardian, and oh darn, those were definitely gears clicking away in her head, putting two and two together…

“Bunny, you didn’t actually-“ the faerie queen started.

“It was a stupid dare, alright?” Bunnymund exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Technically, it wasn’t exactly a lie. “And… and like I said, by the time I got back up here, they were gone. I went out looking for them, but soon after it started snowing, and then it just kept coming.”

They both turned to North, who had been standing quietly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. The bandit turned a guardian spirit looked at the ground, his brows furrowing.

“Bunny, when you jumped, Jack and Sandy were near the edge, yes?”

The pooka frowned, trying to think back. “I think so, mate. I’m pretty sure I heard Jack calling out for me.”

The leshy didn’t answer, instead he just walked over to the cliff, and started digging through the snow. He stopped when he uncovered the first blades of frozen grass, then scooped up a handful of snow from the bottom of the hole and started carefully shifting through it. Then he muttered something in the northern dialect that was his native tongue.

“North?” Toothiana hovered closer, trying to see what he had found.

“Look here.” the large man held out the handful of snow.

Bunnymund and Toothiana squinted at the powdery ice crystals. At first glance it was nothing but ordinary snow, but at a closer look there appeared to be something black mixed in to it. Almost like soot, but grainier, with a dark iridescent gleam to it when the light hit it just right. Almost like…

“Sand?” Bunnymund muttered, confused.

“Da. Like Sandy’s, only corrupted.”

The other gathered spirits looked sharply at the forest guardian, and saw that his usually twinkling eyes were chillingly serious.

“I knew he was gathering his power, but that he really managed this…”

Toothiana frowned. “Wait, who are you talking about?”

North took a deep breath, as if preparing to shoulder a great weight, and shook the snow off his hands. “Pitch Black.”

The yetis gave a series of startled rumbles, and the faeries twittered amongst themselves in alarm, but the two guardians stood frozen in shock.

“But… he was banished centuries ago!” the faerie woman protested feebly.

“Weakened significantly, yes, but he cannot be destroyed that easily. Not while there’s fear in the world, and there always will be.” North explained. 

“He has always resented Sandy, for Sandy’s abilities are most similar to his own, and yet the perfect opposite. And now…” North looked grimly down at the dark stain on the snow. “… it seems that he’s found a way to turn his enemy’s weapon against us.”

“But… why would he take Jack too?” Toothiana twisted her hands together. She had always been fond of the young spirit with his bright smile.

“I wish I knew. Maybe just for a hostage.” the ancient bandit glanced up at the steadily falling snow. “But I think there’s more to it.”

Bunnymund barely listened. His hackles stood up and his paws were clenched into fists at his sides.

“They were all around us.” he muttered. “They watched and waited.”

Toothiana turned to look at him, alarmed by the unusually soft tone from the usually loud and abrasive pooka. “Bunny?”

“And worse yet, I gave them just the distraction they needed. If I hadn’t made such a spectacle of myself, they never would’ve gotten the drop on us.”

Toothiana flew over to him, even her faeries gathering closer at the sound of the pooka’s miserable tone, patting his fur with tiny hands to try and console him. 

“Oh, Bunny. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have kno-“

“NO!” Bunnymund flailed, scattering the smaller faeries in every direction. “Don’t you see? That son of a mongrel dingo knew I was meeting Sandy, so he just needed to follow me, and I led him straight to him! And now he’s taken Jack too! I PLAYED RIGHT INTO HIS HANDS!”

“Aster!” North grasped his oldest friend by the shoulders and spoke more softly than one might think him capable. 

“Is no one’s fault, you hear? No one but Pitch himself. He always uses trickery to get what he wants, and now, he has Jack and Sandy. So it’s best we do not spend time blaming ourselves, but figuring out how to get them back, yes?”

The tension in Bunnymund’s shoulders didn’t quite leave, but it eased, the fire in his eyes giving way to steel. “…Yeah. I can do that.”

The leshy slapped him on the back with a force that would have felled a lesser creature. “I know you can, Bunny.”

Then he turned to the rest of their group and started giving orders: “Let’s move out! If Pitch is keeping our friends prisoner, he will need a place for it. And if the feeling in my belly is right, he won’t have moved far from his old haunt!”

Bunnymund fell into step at North’s shoulder, one finger tracing the edge of his boomerang.

“Hang on, Frostbite. We’re coming.”

________________________________________

 

Jack wandered the corridors. After a long while of fruitless groping in the dark, he had finally managed to find an opening that allowed him to leave the gloomy dungeon he’d been left in. Not that the escape seemed to have done him any good. He grimaced slightly when something squelched unpleasantly under his foot. The rough, gravely ground bit into the soles of his feet, and it seemed that everywhere he turned, his clothes kept catching on something sharp but unseen. Even in places where there shouldn’t have been anything they could get tangled in.

When his sleeve caught something once more, he snapped and yanked at it violently. The sound of tearing cloth met his ears and he lost his balance and banged his shoulder painfully on the wall. The prince bit his lip to keep from crying out from sheer frustration. If only he had his staff! If only to make it easier for him to get around. Maybe then he’d have already found Sandy and they could’ve left this wretched place, before… Before what?

Jack remembered the smile on Pitch Black’s face as he’d said that things would change, and he couldn’t help a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what the Nightmare King was planning, but it couldn’t be anything good. And he was keeping the Sandman locked up somewhere…

Angrily, the frost sprite swiped at his eyes with the torn edge of his sleeve, and pushed away from the wall, heading further into the darkness. He didn’t have time for feeling sorry for himself, he had to find Sandy.

Coming to yet another fork in the tunnel, the pale spirit stopped and looked back and forth between the new passages. None of them looked all too inviting to him, reminding him far too much of gaping mouths that were just waiting for something young and soft to wander too close.

But before he had the time to make up his mind, he heard faint shuffling and grunting coming from the corridor behind him, and drawing closer. Picking a passage at random, he darted in and stumbled forward in the near-dark, until he reached a turn and flung himself around the corner, flattening himself to the wall. He held his breath for a long moment, straining his ears, but no sound came from the tunnel behind him. He let out his breath in a whoosh, and glanced up along the tunnel he had blindly blundered into. His breath caught as he realized he could see just the faintest outline of the tunnel opening ahead, the darkness beyond just slightly less impenetrable than in the tunnels.

He crept forward, trying to reign in the impulse to dash straight towards the faintest promise of light and possibly right into his captors. He peered carefully through the rough doorway, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. Instead of a new tunnel he had found what appeared to be a great hall, with rows after rows huge columns disappearing up into the shadows.

Almost quivering with relief, Jack stepped forward into the room. All spirits capable of flight felt at least some aversion to dark, narrow spaces, so the open air was a welcome change. Carefully, he circled the base of one massive pillar, trying to get some idea of just how huge the room really was, when a faint glimmer caught his eye. 

Huge, ornate double doors were set into one wall, and between them shone a narrow strip of soft, golden light. With a jolt, the prince rushed forward and peered through the crack, but he could see nothing but more columns and shadows cast by a flickering light. He pressed his ear to the door, and when he couldn’t hear anything, he tried the handle. The door swung open soundlessly at the lightest touch, and he stepped in. 

The second room appeared to be something like a dining hall, judging by the long table and the great fireplace set beside it. The fire burned merrily, and while Jack usually wasn’t bothered by cold, after the long crawl through the dungeons even the warmth of the fire was just as much a relief as the light it cast.

For a long moment, he stood by the fire, half hiding behind one of the pillars lining the walls, simply soaking up the light and the sense of comfort. Eventually, he turned to take a better look at his surroundings. The room was an eerie place even with the fire burning brightly. The carvings on the walls and even the furniture were all done with images of leering gargoyles and other horrific figures. Cobwebs covered the tapestries on the walls so thickly, that he hardly could tell what the weavings might have portrayed at some point. 

As Jack wandered this odd gallery of all things dark and dreadful, he suddenly came across something that stood out sharply from its surroundings.

To the side there was a small table, piled high with jewels.

Confused, but also curious, the winter spirit stepped closer. On the table there were crystal goblets, filled with pearls. Bracelets and other items were stacked in piles around them, and chains of silver and gold spilled out of several open boxes and chests. Not any sort of overly delicate, feminine trinkets, but things a man of nobility might wear, and feel more dignified for it. And every object sported a very obvious wintery theme. Jack gingerly picked up a diadem from the pile, running one finger over the frost pattern etched into the silver and studded with tiny diamonds. Small crystal spikes lined the edges of the circlet, mimicking icicles. Jack carefully touched the sharp point of one, and suddenly thought of his own, plain circlet he had thrown away just in a jest… 

Just to see what Bunny might say.

There was a painful catch in his throat. Was Bunny okay? Had he been captured like him and Sandy? No, that didn’t seem likely. Pitch Black hadn’t even mentioned him, and he had obviously taken a lot of pleasure from showing Sandy to Jack, tied up and helpless. Maybe then… Bunny had gotten away? And with how many spirits of the forest he knew, he’d eventually come looking for them and bring help?

A small spark that felt like something bright and hopeful started forming in the young spirit’s chest, but before he could get further into those warm thoughts, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Panicked, he spun around, but instead of another nightmare or even Pitch himself, he met something else.

The… thing was vaguely human in shape, but seemed to be made more of trailing pieces of shadows than any actual matter. It moved about in a strange, gliding manner, as if dancing to some unheard tune.

Jack inched sideways, trying not to turn his back on the thing. But the shadow matched him step for step, so that the two ended up turning a slow circle around each other. Jack stopped, and the creature stopped as well. He tried to move the other way, but again, the shadow mirrored his every move. Getting annoyed, the frost spirit crossed his arms and huffed.

“You know, I already have a shadow, I don’t need another one.”

His new follower wiggled in place slightly, as if laughing in mime, and then raised its arms – or what could’ve been arms – and spun around. Then it stepped to the side and spun again, and again, the shadows flowing around it in some kind of a waltz for one.

Suddenly the shadow dashed towards Jack, who started in alarm, but the dark figure made no move to attack, instead spinning a full circle around him before stopping and laughing without a voice like before.

Jack was starting to feel like he was being made fun of. Fear taking back seat to annoyance, he stepped forward, and the shadow danced backwards away from him. The prince arched an eyebrow. Was this supposed to be a game? Well, he would show that he could play.

The shadow moved closer again, gliding from side to side, and Jack stood his ground, his jaw set stubbornly. But when a black hand reached out for him, he suddenly spun aside, doing a full turn and ending up behind the shadow, which spun around to face him, surprised. The frost spirit felt a small laugh bubble in his chest. He couldn’t help it, the dark figure had looked so dumbfounded, even though it didn’t even have a proper face, when Jack had suddenly changed the rules of the game on it.

After a moment of amazed stillness, the shadow seemed to laugh yet again and spun gracefully away. He could now see little, sparkling bits amidst all the black as the creature moved, like small diamonds. Or perhaps ice crystals. 

The shadowy figure darted close again, just brushing against the side of Jack’s neck, under his ear. This time the prince retaliated by taking a mock swing at it, driving it back in turn. The shadow skipped a few steps away, then bent at the middle, like a dancer bowing to their partner, and whirled away. And this time, Jack moved to follow.

They continued like that for a while, the swirling strip of animate darkness and the pale slip of a boy in his torn and dirty clothes. At times they mirrored each other’s moves, trying to predict each other, and at other times they danced and dodged in a game of tag.

Jack felt… light. As light as if he still had his staff and was letting the wind carry him. He was a little surprised that his feet were still touching the floor. He even added a little jump into his next turn, but the air seemed to be cross with him and refused to pick him up. He giggled a little despite himself.

His playmate was suddenly just behind his shoulder, and he leaped away with a laugh. Feeling a sudden burst of energy, he threw his arms out and spun around, the room a blur in his eyes. The shadow was there right beside him, spinning with him, spinning all around him…

Out of breath, Jack came to a stop. Still dizzy he looked up and realized he was alone yet again. He looked around confused, wondering where the shadow had gone, when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a full length mirror nearby and gasped. 

He hardly recognized himself. He had been dressed in his tattered everyday clothes, but now he was wrapped from head to toe in black. The material of his clothes glided over his body like silk, decorated here and there with small sparkling gems, artistically placed to imitate swirls of frost. His tunic had a long hem that swirled about his bare feet with his every move, and a high collar that framed his face, but no sleeves. Instead, attached to the shoulders of the garment, was a sheer, billowing cape that was attached to bands on his arms. To top everything off, on his head rested a circlet made of dark metal, like tarnished silver, with crystal icicles curving down over his temples.

He looked nothing like himself. He had never seemed so… dark and imposing.

“Beautiful.” spoke a voice from the shadows.

Jack whirled around, and Pitch Black melted out of the shadows not a pace away, looking exceedingly  
pleased with himself. The prince backed up several steps, casting about for something he could use either as a weapon or a shield.

“Don’t be afraid, Jack.” Pitch held up a hand, speaking low and softly as if shushing a skittish animal. 

When no immediate attack came, Jack slowly got a hold of his panic, and pulled himself up to look the master of fear in the eye.

“There we go.” the Nightmare King smiled, pleased, as the young spirit turned defiant eyes on him. “How do you like my gifts?”

The frost spirit’s lip curled in a sneer and he barely glanced down at himself. Pitch of the other hand took his time looking the youth up and down.

“I knew that outfit would suit you… Does it not please you?”

Jack moved as if to wrap his arms around himself, but flinched like he’d touched something unclean when his hands met the shadowy silk.

“No.” he bit out.

“Ah, such a pity. It is your wedding attire, after all.”

Jack’s eyes shot wide open. “… What?”

The shadowy spirit stalked forward, his face nearly impassive save for a little hint of a smile, but his eyes were alight with a fierce glow. “I’ve found my true mate, my dear, and you know it.” 

A cold, grey hand came up to run a finger along the shocked young spirit’s jaw as he leaned close. “Or, can you tell me something that could possibly go better together than cold and dark?”

Angrily, Jack swatted the hand away from his face. “I’m nothing like you. You’re a monster.”

Pitch stood up and laughed, full-throated and mocking. “My dear little shiver, all beings with power have the potential to be monsters. Most of them are just too afraid to admit it. But they cannot hide it from me, I am the keeper of fear after all.”

Then he turned back to the frost spirit, taking on an inquiring air. “Has it really never bothered you? How you have to always hold back? How some other spirits are always invited to spread their powers wherever they go, but you are always told to keep it down?” Pitch spread his arms, gesturing animatedly. “Haven’t you ever wanted to just… let go? To really see what you can do?”

Jack blinked and swallowed, all of a sudden devoid of any sneering replies. The shadowy man stepped forward and held out a hand for the boy, his face oh-so-understanding, and just a touch sad.

“I have a feeling we understand each other, you and I.”

The frost spirit drew a deep breath, and looked the taller creature in the eye. “You have feelings? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

The gentle look fell off Pitch’s face and was replaced with a snarl. 

“You stubborn-“ he cut himself off, and turned around in a swirl of black robes.

“No matter. The Sandman will die tonight.” he said over his shoulder. He ignored Jack’s shocked gasp, even though the whiff of the boy’s sudden terror was so temptingly sweet to his senses. 

“With the last of his light snuffed out, all the other creatures are powerless against my nightmares. They might be able to destroy one or two, but without the Sandman to fill the nights with all things saccharine and frivolous, there will be more every time a mortal closes his eyes.”

He shot a leer at the young spirit over his shoulder. “And in time, you will come to see things my way.”

Jack shivered with the torrent of powerless fury and disgust raging inside of him. To stand here and listen to Pitch talking about other people’s lives or happiness as if they were only incidental things. It was enough to turn his stomach. Sparks of cold snapped around his fingers, but without his staff the power roaring in his veins had no conduit, nothing to focus through.

“DAMN YOU!” he screamed, needing to vent his frustration some way.

Framed by the fireplace, Pitch turned around and looked at the frost prince flatly. “We are all of us damned, my queen.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bunnymund flattened himself to a wall, his ears straining to catch the faintest sounds. After a few tense heartbeats, he motioned to the rest of the group to follow, and dropped onto all fours to lope down the tunnel on silent paws. He tried not to think of how much their current mission reminded him of sticking his paw down a snake’s hole without knowing if it was occupied. 

It had turned out that North’s belly had been correct, once again. As they had approached the site of Shadow Citadel, the place where Pitch had made his home during the days of his might, they had found more and more traces of the nightmare sand. The very forest had steadily grown gloomier and quieter as they approached the ancient stronghold. 

Finally they had stood before the few jagged remains of ancient walls jutting at the sky like the broken teeth of some gigantic beast. None of them had been the slightest bit discouraged by the fortress’ decrepit state, however. The citadel’s main strength had never been the walls around it, but the miles and miles of tunnels dug below it. Any invader would never know before it was too late when he might stumble across a cavern that was wide enough for the guards to swarm the intruder, or which side tunnel might loop back and let the creatures sneak up on him from behind.

However, the structure of the fortress was a double-edged sword. There were simply so many tunnels that it was not possible for even Pitch Black and his nightmares to keep watch over them all at all times. But even so, their only chance of success was to get in without being noticed, which meant they had had to leave a good deal of their group behind. North’s yetis were simply too cumbersome to move stealthily in the narrow passages. Bunnymund felt the loss keenly, for few things were as reassuring in enemy territory as the bulk of a yeti or three at your back. Small number of Toothiana’s faeries had stubbornly refused to leave their queen’s side, but they were huddled nervously together, often quietly chirping to one another in worried tones. 

The forest spirits were going in blindly, oftentimes literally, not knowing if they were getting any nearer to where Pitch was holding the two spirits, or if they were going to run into an entire army of nightmares at the next turn. They’d already had to double back on their own tracks twice after running into a dead end, and the pooka was just about ready to pull out his whiskers in frustration.

The grey furred spirit lifted his head, his whiskers spread to catch the faintest draft and nose twitching. He growled in frustration when the air carried no scent but the stench of dust and mold. There was also a faint whiff of something so long dead that it had gone past rot and just dried up and shriveled, but he was hardly moved by that. Old bones could lie where they were for all he cared. Right now, it was a much fresher scent that he dreaded the most. The scent of blood.

North was suddenly right at his shoulder, and he quickly ran the back of one paw across his nose to cover his momentary lapse of attention.

“Stinks like something foul in here.”

“Da, must mean we’re going deeper. And that mean we’re getting closer!” the bulky man clapped the pooka on a shoulder jovially. For once, Bunnymund wished he was just a little bit more prone to be infected by the other spirit’s optimism.

They crept further forward, until they came to a crossroad. The tunnel they had been following opened suddenly into a larger corridor, which continued somewhere beyond sight in both directions.

“Which way from here, mate?”

“The air on the left feels fresher.” offered Toothiana. “Most likely that direction goes to surface.”

“Or it might connect to other tunnels. Maybe we should…”

While the three guardian spirits were arguing and debating, the small faeries spread out a short distance down the hallway, to make sure they weren’t about to be overheard. But only a moment later one of them shot back to the group that was still half-hidden at the mouth of the tunnel. The little faerie grabbed one of Bunnymund’s whiskers, tugging insistently and chattering away urgently.

“Ow, ow! Oi, cut it out!” the pooka tried to swat at the pest, but Toothiana snagged her little follower away, cupping her in her hands protectively.

“What are you – Slow down, slow down, you found what?”

Instead of answering the little faerie darted a small distance down the hall, bobbing in place and urging the others to hurry. With a curious glance at one another, they moved to follow. 

The small faerie led them to a door, which had faint blue-white light seeping through the cracks around it. Any sort of light in the lair of nightmares was strange in itself. North turned to look at his companions seriously and drew one of his swords. Toothiana and Bunnymund readied their own weapons, and the former bandit put his shoulder against the door, and pushed.

The huge door opened with a creak that made Bunnymund’s skin crawl. The light from beyond intensified, and they were momentarily left blinking, but once his vision cleared, Bunnymund felt a cold claw tugging at the pit of his stomach. To the side, Toothiana gasped softly and North swore under his breath in his native dialect.

The room was a very non-descript stonewalled cube, save for a small pedestal near the back. On the pedestal, entwined in a web of black dreamsand that pulsed and shifted like a nest of vipers, laid a wooden staff. The well-known shepherd’s hook shape instantly recognizable, even without the ice crystals and the waves of intense cold that the object gave off. The black webbing that held the staff spread out from the pedestal, disappearing in the cracks of the stonework.

“So, that’s how he did it. He added Jack’s magic into his own to make the storm and snow.” North mused half to himself.

Bunnymund didn’t hear. Seeing the item that personified his… personified Jack almost as much as his trademark troublemaker’s grin like this seemed almost like a sacrilege. Without thinking, he reached out to grasp the wood, but before he could touch it, the nightmare sand suddenly reared up like a snake preparing to strike, and swiped at his outstretched paw. 

The pooka didn’t really feel anything more than the sand rushing over his fingers, only because fear, misery and despair don’t have any physical manifestation. But some deeper part of himself rose up in response to the intangible hurt. Some part that was green leaves, budding flowers and the easy, honest laugh of children. And his fingers closed around the tendril of black sand, and squeezed. For a moment the cloud of black enveloped him. He couldn’t see, but tears stung in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, but his chest burned. And then there was a sound like shattering glass, and the sand slipped through his fingers, falling down like a hail of tiny, black granules that seemed to evaporate as soon as they touched the ground.

The battle was over in a matter of seconds, but at the end of it the pooka fell to his knees, gasping for breath. There were two pairs of hands on him in an instant, one large, warm and heavily calloused, the other small, delicate, but with unrelenting strength in them. 

North held his grip for a moment, feeling the other’s breaths in and out, assuring himself that the silly bunny hadn’t done any harm to himself. Then he stood up and reached for the staff that still lay on the pedestal, now free of the black sand. He ran his fingers over the contours that felt foreign to his fingers, but were dearly associated with a trusted friend nonetheless. Then, without a word, he held the stick out to the spring guardian.

Bunnymund took the staff gently, reverently. Toothiana looked sadly on the pooka, then turned to North.

"We got the staff, and Jack's power is tied to it. Does this mean it will start thawing now?"

"No. Pitch has twined his power around Jack's. Only when we break that hold the world will return to normal."

Bunnymund cradled the staff in his paws, running a thumb over the gnarled surface. 

“Jack.”

________________________________________

 

Jack flinched, startled. He could’ve sworn he had just felt a soft touch. Or maybe heard someone calling his name?

He listened intently for a little moment, before shaking his head to chase away the lingering feeling. It wouldn’t help him any at this point.

Instead he focused on the view from the… well, you could probably call in a window, if you were being generous. It was a long shaft cut into the wall, narrow but tall. Allowing very little actual light through, but giving still some idea of what was happening outside. Even from where he was standing, at the innermost end of the shaft, he could feel the angry snap of the cold wind on his cheeks. So different from the gentle, playful wind that carried him on his trips outside the palace. He stared at the narrow strip of darkened sky he could see, listening to the howling wind.

“How do you like the storm?”

The question startled him out of his thoughts, and the prince whirled around, finding the Nightmare King standing not a pace away.

“I thought it was a rather nice touch, for all I had to pretty much wing it.” the dark spirit smiled in a manner that might have been charming on any other face. 

“Of course, I never had your… artistry with this particular element, obviously.”

Jack felt he could’ve choked on all the syrup in that particular statement.

“Of course you don’t. It’s sorely lacking on the moans and wails department. That’s more of your thing, isn’t it?” the ice spirit bit out.

Pitch pretended to pout, but his eyes were dancing with mirth at the snappy reply. At the delicious game of defiance.

“Don’t judge me so harshly, my dear Jack. In the end I want so very little, only to be feared. So many others…” here, he seemingly absently glanced to the side, directing Jack’s gaze to a wall carving of a demon swinging a lash at a covering figure of a mortal woman. “…wouldn’t be satisfied with just that.”

Jack studied the gruesome scene that was portrayed on the wall for a moment, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, his eyes drifted to the spirit of fear standing in front of him. His face was smooth as carved marble in this light, the shadows gliding softly about him. Dropping his gaze, the prince crossed his arms, and turned pointedly away, staring out at the storm again.

Pitch only smirked and sauntered over to the long table in the room, picking up a dish made of some black stone and filled with fruit, and brought it over to the winter sprite.

“You should eat, my dear. It is getting late and you must be hungry.”

He picked up a handful of grapes and held them out. They were bigger than any the prince had ever seen, and shiny red-black in the low light of the fire. Jack couldn’t suppress the thought that in any other light they’d be red as blood.

“Try these, they are very sweet.”

Jack swallowed, and lifted his chin proudly. “No.”

“Just to please me?” Pitch leaned in, bringing the treat in the frost sprite’s sight even as he was avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“I do nothing for your pleasure.”

Pitch moved closer, stroking the back of a finger over a pale, cold cheek. His voice was all but a purr. “It pleases me just that we are alone, together. Just… the two of us.” 

A shudder ran through Jack, and he jerked violently away. But as he did one of his flailing hands smacked into Pitch, slapping the dish and its contents from the dark spirit’s grip.

They both stared at the scattered shards of the broken bowl and the spilled fruit for a long moment, before the prince turned back to his captor, his face perfectly impassive. Slowly, Pitch returned his gaze back to the pale spirit, his own mouth set in a slightly displeased slant.

Suddenly Jack was smacked violently to the side. He wasn’t exactly sure if the Nightmare King had simply moved too fast for him to see, or if he’d had the shadows do it for him, but in the next moment the frost spirit found himself sitting on the floor slumped against the wall, his cheek stinging enough to make his eyes water. Pitch leaned over the prince, his eyes cold and hard.

“You would do well to be grateful for my kindness.”

The prince made to dodge out of the fear keeper’s shadow, but his chin was caught in a steely grip, and his vision was suddenly filled with the harsh visage of the Nightmare King.

“You won’t be leaving this place any time soon either way, but it is in my power to make your stay here very pleasant, or very uncomfortable, according to what I think you deserve.” 

Faded gold eyes set into a stony-grey face held sparkling blue for a tense moment, before something new appeared in the prince’s eyes.

“If I behave, then, you will not hurt me? You’ll let me use my powers again?” Jack inquired, almost timidly.

Pitch eased his grip on the younger spirit’s face, but didn’t move back yet. “Give yourself to me, and no one will ever try and tell you ‘no’ again.”

Jack swallowed thickly, but his eyes stayed on the dark spirit intently. “If I choose to obey, then… what would I be to you?” 

“You’ll be everything you could ever dream, Jack, as long as you do as I say.” Pitch flowed gracefully to his feet, and held a hand out to the prince, who hesitated before taking it and allowing the other to pull him on his feet. 

Jack seemed nervous, dropping his gaze almost bashfully, but not moving to remove his hand from the dark spirit’s grip. “Everything I want, if I swear to stay with you and serve you?”

“As I have said.” the spirit of fear reassured, trying to curb his gleeful smile.

The frost spirit’s free hand fiddled with the trailing edge of his tunic, “If I really have no choice but to stay with you, then… Grant your-… your bride one wish?”

“One wish?” 

“One thing to prove that you mean what you say, and –“ Jack cut off, swallowed, and then, slowly, lifted a trembling hand and laid it on the Nightmare King’s chest.

“And then I’ll be yours for eternity.”

The Boogieman shivered at the contact, his hand coming up to grasp the one laid beside his unbeating heart, but learned suspicion still raised its ugly head. “Are you certain of this, Jack?”

Jack drew a deep breath, his shoulders tensing, before he answered, his voice suddenly very flat. “Maybe… it’s better to be feared than shunned or scolded at every turn like a naughty child.”

The Nightmare King studied the young spirit silently for a small eternity, trying to gauge his inner thoughts. Then, a slow smile spread over his face.

“In that case… Anything, my Jack.”

“Let me be the one to kill the Sandman.”

Pitch reared back, surprised. “What?” 

“As a last favor to a friend!” Jack explained hurriedly. “I could freeze him, gently. He wouldn’t even notice. And when he’s one solid lump…” 

The prince’s voice faltered, and he simply swung his free arm, as if striking an invisible object.

“One good hit would do.” he whispered hoarsely. 

“Let me make sure he doesn’t have to needlessly suffer, just…”

Jack dropped his gaze, few snow white strands of hair just brushing the taller man’s chest as he bowed his head.

“Please.” His voice was impossibly small.

Pitch stared at the boy in silence for a long moment, before that slow, fanged smile returned.

“My beautiful little white fright, I could never deny you anything.” He dropped a light kiss on the frost spirit’s head. 

“Do as you please. The Sandman shall die as gently as it is in your power to grant.”

He pulled the small pale hand away from his chest and dropped a kiss on it too.

“Now, wait here, my little shiver. I have some last preparations to do before tonight’s ceremony.”

Pitch’s footstep were as silent as shadows as always, but when the boom of the massive door closing announced the Shadow Lord’s departure, Jack lifted his head. 

And then he smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the long wait. Apparently, summer is the time of distractions for writers. And this chapter just kept getting longer as I wrote. I contemplated about splitting it in two parts, but in the end decided it served no purpose.  
> So, have at thee!

One of the faeries chirruped urgently, catching Toothiana’s attention.

“Everyone , hide!” she hissed sharply.

The three guardians and their few remaining companions quickly darted into various side tunnels and other nooks and crannies of the shadowed passage, just as the muffled footsteps from ahead rounded the corner. They all flattened themselves deeper into their hiding places when they recognized the figure at the front of the group.

The Nightmare King himself was leading what appeared to be a small procession of nightmares through the halls, and beside him…

The pooka felt his hackles rise. “Jack…”

The playful spirit looked barely a shadow of himself. He appeared entirely unconcerned of the half a dozen nightmares that were following close behind him. His face was perfectly blank, and marble-white against his black clothes. His hand was resting lightly on the shadow lord’s bent arm, like a noble lady being led to a state dinner.

The shadowy group passed by with barely a sideways glance. As they disappeared around the next bend, the forest spirit’s crept out in the open again. 

“Well,” North shifted his grip of his of his blades nervously. “At least we know Jack is all right.”

“Yes, but he looked… Oh, North, you don’t think-“ Toothiana started, but was quickly hushed by the leshy, who glanced carefully at Bunnymund as he did so.

The spring guardian appeared almost shell-shocked, staring after the procession that had disappeared from sight. 

“We should follow them. I have a feeling in my belly that they will lead us to where Sandy is.” the old cossack whispered back.

He then walked up to Bunnymund, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his stupor.

“Let’s move.”

________________________________________

 

The deepest caverns beneath the former Shadow Citadel were brightly lit compared to the rest of the tunnels, but none less repulsive in all other senses. Flickering flames pushing through the cracks in the floor sent eerie shadows moving across the walls, and made the sickly fumes rising from the sulphurous pits glow menacingly.

“Finally,” breathed Pitch. “The time has come.”

In the far end of the room, on a dais slightly above the rest of the cave floor, the shadows deepened, thickened, and then pulled back like opening a curtain, revealing the Sandman, still held in his black tethers. The golden spirit’s eyes darted back and forth and he struggled in silent terror.

The black man breathed deep, drawing the air in across his tongue as if tasting it, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. Then he turned to the pale figure at his side. “Are you ready, my dear?”

Jack stared at the dream guardian for a moment before looking up, his expression still perfectly neutral. “I need my staff for this.” 

“That old thing? No, no, I have something better in mind.”

The Nightmare King brought his hands close together, a small swirl of black sand appearing between them. Then he pulled them apart in a quick motion, the sand solidifying into a long, angular shape, like a staff made of a jagged piece of black crystal. He then offered it to Jack.

The prince took the offering gingerly, carefully inspecting the new staff and weighing it in his hands. “I’m not sure… Will it work?”

Pitch chuckled and brushed his long fingers through a few curls of snow-white hair. “Don’t worry, my little shiver. You’ll get the feel for it.”

Grasping the staff more firmly, Jack nodded and turned, approaching the dais with purpose.

________________________________________

 

Hidden in the shadows at the edge of the room, the three remaining guardians watched the proceedings in horrified fascination.

“What is he-“ muttered North, squinting as if he was hoping the fumes and the light were playing tricks on his sight.

“He cannot- Not Jack!” Insisted Toothiana hoarsely, as if her terror of the very thought would make it untrue.

Bunnymund didn’t hear. He only saw Jack. White knuckles that stood out from the hand that clutched the staff and the slight shiver of his throat as he swallowed. The familiar joyous half-bounce in his step had given way to the measured stride he used when he was preparing to launch his newest prank. But the eyes… the eyes were cold and still, like a frozen pond in a winter morning. 

In that moment, he felt like he was watching a stranger built from the pieces of someone he held dear, and his heart shivered in his chest.

________________________________________

 

Jack stepped on the dais, standing directly in front of the Sandman, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Hurt, fear and uncertainty warred on the round, jovial features of the dream guardian. The nightmares around the room were stomping and clamoring for the destruction of their enemy, and at the very center of the pandemonium stood Pitch Black, smiling wildly. The Nightmare King’s hands were opening and closing at his sides as he watched proudly and covetously how his newly won Shadow Queen leaned over his eternal nemesis.

“Don’t worry, Sandy.” Jack assured him, smiling just a little sadly. “This, is the one thing I can do.”

He raised the staff Pitch had given him.

________________________________________

 

“Bunny, he’s got Jack! You have to stop him!” North bellowed, needing to shout just to be heard over the noise.

For a moment longer, the pooka was frozen in place, but when the leshy swore in his own language and grasped the hilt of his sword, a grey-furred hand shot out and stopped him.

“No!” Bunnymund turned to the former bandit just long enough to make sure he had been heard, then fixed his eyes upon the scene unfolding in front of him again.

“I trust you, Jack.” Bunnymund whispered under his breath as he reeled his arm back and let his boomerang fly.

________________________________________

 

Sparkling ice crystals sprang forward from the prince’s hands and swirled around the black staff before shooting towards the Sandman. But instead of targeting the little golden man, they latched on to the black sand around him, gathering, solidifying… And with a sudden crack, the black prison around the dream guardian shattered like an eggshell. 

“Go Sandy! You’re free!” Jack yelled, quickly turning the stream of ice on the nearest nightmares.

The Sandman sat stunned for a moment, looking from Jack to his suddenly unbound hands and back. But then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see a nightmare charging at him… 

… Only to shatter into a cloud of black dust as a well-aimed boomerang sliced through its neck.

Trance broken, the small guardian shot straight up, summoning his sand as he went. From a higher vantage point he spotted the group forest guardians on the other side of the room. Bunny deftly plucked the boomerang out of the air as it arced back to him, Toothiana and her faeries darted in and out of the warzone in a flash of sparkling feathers and North plowed bodily into the mass of nightmares, laughing all the way. With a silent cheer, Sandman raised his sand whip and swung it at the oncoming dark swarm. 

The battle was on.

Pitch was still standing where he had been. He had seen the Sandman’s bonds breaking, and had tried to summon his black sand to recapture the dream guardian before he could get his bearings, but the attacking nightmares had blocked his way. Now the golden spirit was lashing left and right with his own sand, and the Nightmare King was trying to find a position to attack from without getting trampled by his own minions, or getting within the sand whips’ range.

Suddenly a flash of white caught the shadowy spirit’s attention. He turned and saw the frost prince swinging the black staff, freezing a group of nightmares in mid step and then reversing the stroke to shatter them.

Pitch ground his teeth. Jack Frost, the careless gust of wind that had brought his carefully constructed house of cards crashing down. The princeling had no idea what he had just thrown away. They could’ve ruled the world. He had been willing to give the boy everything, and yet he had - 

The fear keeper’s train of thought was derailed when Jack stopped and looked up, and Pitch saw the sudden light of recognition and relief spreading over his face. He turned almost unwillingly to follow the frost spirit’s gaze, and found the grey furred pooka standing on a ledge high on the cavern wall. And he was looking back at Jack with that same look of relief and joy softening the battle-hardened lines of his face.

In that moment, Pitch Black saw red.

The staff exploded into a shower of black sand in Jack’s hands. The prince gasped and batted at the cloud of darkness that suddenly surrounded him. Blinded and thrown off-balance, the frost sprite was unable to react in time when Pitch lunged forward and backhanded him violently across the jaw.

Bunnymund saw Jack crumble to the ground, dazed by the blow, and he roared. There was no other word for the sound that momentarily overtook the din of the battle.

He launched off the ledge he had been perched on, landed on a very bewildered nightmare’s back, leaped again, bounced off the flank of another nightmare, and bodily tackled Pitch Black to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Pitch was momentarily as stunned from the force of the attack as the sheer physicality of it. Most creatures had a natural aversion to touching him, from some instinctive fear. But the pooka was clutching and tearing at his robes with clawed paws, foregoing his entire arsenal entirely in favor of beating the Nightmare King into the ground with his bare paws. 

Finally getting a hold of himself, Pitch Black turned intangible, merging with the shadows around him. He slipped to one side as the furred brute slammed to the ground when the body he had been sitting on simply melted away. He watched with some amusement as the pooka cast about him wildly to catch a sight of his quarry. The shadow spirit waited for the precise moment when the forest guardian had his back turned, then slipped out of the shadows and struck him with a well-placed tendril of nightmare sand. 

Bunnymund slammed into the wall and crumpled to the ground. He coughed spasmodically to get the air that had been knocked out of him flowing back into his lungs. He rolled onto his back, trying to blink the spots out of his vision, when a shadow appeared over him. His head cleared immediately when he recognized Pitch Black’s form looming above him, the black sand gathering into the fear keeper’s hands and forming into a long handle with a wicked blade on one end.

“I must thank you, Aster. I’d forgotten what a pleasure it is to rid oneself of a foolishly heroic nuisance!” Pitch snarled as he swung his scythe above his head.

The one thing most people don’t realize when seeing a rabbit curled up in the grass, is just how long those furry legs really are, and just how much power is stored underneath all that downy soft fur.

The paw that caught Pitch in the stomach lifted the Nightmare King clear off his feet, and sent him flying a good twenty feet before crashing down in a very undignified manner. Bunnymund rolled, got all four limbs under him, and leaped to the side just in time to avoid a lunging nightmare. Still in midair the pooka snatched an egg-bomb from his bandolier, and flung it at the black beast, which exploded in a swirl of colored smoke and black sand.

Bunnymund didn’t have long to celebrate his narrow escape when Pitch was on him again, swinging his scythe with furious intent.

________________________________________

 

Jack groaned as he sat upright, gingerly touching a hand to the side of his jaw which was throbbing in time with his pulse. For a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then his short-term memory realigned itself and the reality came crashing down on him all at once.

Pitch. Sandy. Nightmares…

Bunny!

The prince was on his feet in a flare of panic, looking around for the spring guardian. A blur of grey caught from the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he turned and bit back a gasp. 

Pitch Black and Bunnymund were weaving among the stone pillars, darting in and out of the shadows and among ranks of fearlings, clashing, evading, and striking again. Every now and then a nightmare would try and join the battle, but would only get smacked aside almost off-handedly by one or the other of the combatants. Even Pitch wasn’t paying much attention to whether or not he might cut down some of his own minions in his frenzy to tear the pooka apart. 

The keeper of fear wasn’t looking nearly as majestic as he had before, when he had been cajoling Jack to his side. The edges of his black robes flew about him in frayed tatters, and his porcelain-smooth face was twisted into an ugly sneer, lit by the mad glow of his eyes. Bunnymund was sporting a few dark streaks on his body, dark sand clinging to his fur where the lashes of the Nightmare King’s scythe or black sand had come a little too close for comfort. From the way the pooka would subtly wince every now and then, it was obvious that those hits had left behind more than just stains on his fur.

The winter spirit had the pooka’s name on the tip of his tongue, ready to call out, when he was struck down again. He narrowly avoided cracking his skull open on the stone floor as he fell, and on instinct rolled aside before the nightmare that had blindsided him could land a second blow. He managed to stumble on his feet as the beast lunged for his throat, and the dark creature’s fangs caught only his cape, shredding through the gauzy material.

Further off, Toothiana landed one final blow on the fearling she was dealing with, when a shrill alarm cry from one of her faeries reached her ears. She turned and saw Jack backing away from a nightmare, raising empty hands to try and defend himself. 

The faerie queen was off like a shot towards the flash of red and white that identified her leshy friend in the general chaos of the cave floor. “North! Jack’s staff! Quickly!”

The old Cossack only looked up once, before one of his hands reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out the familiar piece of wood. A simple flick of the stout man’s wrist sent the stick spinning up in the air, from where Toothiana snatched it, like a hawk catching a sparrow in mid-flight, and then darted back in the direction where she had seen the frost prince.

“Jack!” Toothiana shouted, throwing the frost spirit’s staff at him.

Jack looked up when he heard his name called, and saw the staff arcing through the air at him. He rushed towards it, dodged the snapping teeth of a nightmare, reached- And then grinned as his fingers closed around the familiar wood. 

He swung around to face the attacking fearling, which realized a second too late that its target had just gone from a fragile snowflake into a roaring blizzard. One practiced move sent a stream of ice at the black creature, causing it to crumble to the ground in half-frozen chunks.

Immediate threat dealt with, the prince cast a look around. The ranks of the nightmares were quickly thinning, falling to the combined efforts of the guardians. But there was no sight of Bunnymund or the Nightmare King. He leapt in the air, his heart doing a little flip in his chest as a gust of wind immediately wrapped around him, like an embrace from an old friend, and floated near the cavern ceiling, trying to catch a glimpse of grey fur.

When the frost spirit finally spotted the two elder spirits who were still locked in their private battle, he felt a cold jab in his stomach that had nothing to do with his own winter element.

Neither the spring guardian nor the fear keeper had obviously relented their assault while Jack had been distracted by the nightmare. There was a cut on Bunnymund’s ear, near the base, and the blood was running sluggishly down over his face, matting his fur in ugly, rust colored streaks. The pooka was also notably favoring his left leg, gritting his teeth every time he had to put his weight on it, but refusing to give in to the weakness. Pitch Black’s injuries were in a way even more horrific to see. He appeared to be missing… pieces of himself. There were gaping holes in his body, in places where logic said that they should be severely limiting his ability to move, let alone fight, but he appeared hardly affected. The open wounds didn’t so much bleed as they leaked wispy black smoke that floated in the air for a moment before fading away.

As Jack stared, petrified, Pitch swung at Bunnymund, herding him towards the dais where the Sandman had been on display only a moment ago. The pooka dodged, stepped back, ducked beneath the scythe that swooped towards his head and sent his boomerang flying back at the fear keeper. Pitch knocked the wooden weapon aside, and attacked again, this time swinging low. Bunnymund jumped back, but as he came down he landed awkwardly on the edge of the raised platform. He let out a cry as his paw slipped and a jolt of pain shot up his injured limb. Pitch grinned as he heard the guardian’s yelp, quickly switching his grip on his weapon and ramming the heel of the scythe into Bunnymund’s abdomen, knocking the pooka over and the air out the his lungs. 

When the prince saw the pooka doubled over on the ground, coughing and gasping, and the Nightmare King raising his weapon, something clicked into place in his head. With a cry of his own he dropped straight down to the cave floor, and brought the hilt of his staff to the ground. Hard.

A brilliant flash of blue-white filled the cave, a second before a blast of icy wind knocked everyone in the room over.

Pitch Black pushed himself upright, blinking away the spots from his vision and the stabbing headache the sudden flash had brought. He squinted, looking around for Bunnymund, his slowly recovering mind still on the battle and annoyed at the interruption, but instead, when his vision cleared, he saw Jack Frost.

And the frost prince wasn’t laughing, this time.

The young spirit was standing deceptively calmly, with his staff propped on his shoulder, but the ground beneath him was mirror-smooth with ice that spread from his feet like a puddle, and his black clothes were frosted white at the edges. His eyes were blazing, reflecting the light from the fires in flickers, then the blue seeming to well up from underneath, swallowing the other hues in crystal shards and glaciers.

Pitch glanced about the room, but there were but a handful of nightmares left, slinking near the walls and limping into the shadowed tunnels, trying to avoid notice.

Off to the side, North and Toothiana were helping Bunnymund on his feet, the leshy and the faerie stealing furtive, awed glances at the frost spirit, while the pooka was staring openly.

“Hey, Frostbite. What was THAT all about?” 

Jack turned towards Bunnymund, and his face softened with a small smile for a moment, but then he turned back towards Pitch, and his next words were aimed at the Nightmare King.

“You said yourself that I should just let go sometime.” there was a small smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still cold and implacable as ice. “And you know, you were absolutely right.”

“My father taught me that you can’t control any power until you stop being afraid of it. I didn’t really understand it before… But I think I’m starting to figure it out.” Jack looked down at his feet for a moment. Then he looked up sharply, leveling his staff at the fear keeper.

“And he also taught me that once you learn how to control a power, you can choose how you use it. And you… You are not hurting any one of my friends, my PEOPLE, on my watch. Ever again.”

During the last part Jack had moved forward in a slow, measured stride, and Pitch had backed away, matching him step for step. The shadow spirit was awed at the transformation he saw in the playful young spirit. Of just how much energy, how much willpower now stretched across the lines of the winter sprite's form, hardened his face.

Somewhere in the shadows, the nightmares perked their ears, their nostrils flaring.

“Everything! I could’ve given you everything…” the Nightmare King tried one last time.

“Everything I never wanted in the first place.” Jack’s tone was as emotionless as his gaze.

Pitch tried to take another step back, but stopped when he sensed a presence behind him. He whirled around and met with the Sandman, who was floating about level with the fear keeper’s chest, his pudgy arms crossed.

The three remaining guardians stepped forward, Bunnymund hobbling painfully to Jack’s side and wordlessly pressing a paw to the winter spirit’s shoulder. Jack glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his face softening a bit again, and seeing that, the pooka nodded and they both turned back to Pitch Black.

The guardians were now standing (or floating, as it were) in a loose half circle around the Nightmare King. And behind their backs the remaining nightmares pressed closer.

Pitch Drew the tattered ends of his robes closer, his face twisting into the fanged grimace of a cornered animal. “You’ll never get rid of me! You can’t kill fear!” 

“Maybe.” Bunnymund drawled. “But you can shove it back where it came from.”

Pitch was looking wildly around him at the nightmares that were closing in, when his heel touched the edge of a chasm that opened in the cavern floor. He glanced over his shoulder on instinct, into the deep abysses of earth, and then looked up again, just in time so that the guardians could see the look on his face as he recognized the shape of his doom.

The nightmares pounced.

They rushed over the spirit of fear like a black river of semi-solid bodies, sweeping him off his feet and dragging him down into the fissure in the ground. Pitch clawed at the rubble on the cave floor, clung for a moment to the edge of the pit, then with a breathless cry – he was gone.

Jack stared at the spot where the Nightmare King had disappeared for a few stunned seconds, then his shoulders slumped and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked around him, at the faces of his friends which were looking at him with a smile, and finally, finally the old spark lit his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter/epilogue. Because you can't have a fairytale without a happily ever after, right?

A weary group was trudging laboriously up the hill. They were all dirty, exhausted, and battered, but there was not a face among them that didn’t carry the glow of hard-earned victory.

They had done it. It was really only just now sinking in, as they felt the wind on their faces and saw the rising sun peek through the trees. They had gone down into the maw of darkness itself, faced Pitch Black in his own territory, and come out the victors.

The yetis and the rest of Toothiana’s faeries met them at the edge of the forest, the yetis grunting and fussing over their worn and torn appearance, while the faeries mobbed their ‘mommy’ and some even Jack, and the elves jingled merrily underfoot.

Jack especially was practically passed from one yeti to another, all of them expressing their dismay over his appearance. Meanwhile, the faeries were chirping and trying to pick the remains of nightmare sand from his hair, one tiny handful at a time. The prince surrendered to the pawing with a laugh, simply too glad to be back where he most wanted to be to really mind.

Finally, the group was mostly settled into a clearing, the yetis bringing out fresh fruit and rough, but oh-so satisfying baked goods from who knows where, while attending to their various injuries.

Jack looked around him at the mottled group, all of them laughing and joking in between destroying their impromptu breakfast picnic, and the last bite of the cookie he was chewing on caught in his throat.

“Everyone… “ the prince started, his voice trembling just a little. He hesitated when a number of curious eyes turned on him, but plowed bravely on:

“I… Thank you. For coming after me. And for believing in me, even in the end.” 

The Sandman responded by raising his wooden goblet first at Jack then at the rest of their friends.

“Jack, we came, because we wanted to.” Toothiana’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath. 

The frost sprite’s brows furrowed. “You all could’ve gotten hurt, or worse. By the Moon, you DID get hurt!”

“And we could’ve done nothing, and lost a good friend. Two, in fact. Would that not hurt? Jack…” North held up his hand to show his bloodied knuckles. He had briefly lost his other blade during the battle, and been forced to improvise. “This, is good hurt.”

The leshy laid the huge, callused hand on the frost spirit’s shoulder. “Is good to have you back.” 

“Even if you weren’t really needing that rescue there in the end.” Bunnymund added, grimacing a little as a yeti dabbed ointment on the cut on his ear. “I think even Pitch would agree that was pretty impressive what you did back there.” 

The prince couldn’t help it. His frown melted into a smile. True compliments from the pooka were rare and treasured.

“Yeah, guess I don’t make much of a princess after all. Can’t even let myself be rescued properly.”

Good natured laughter filled the air, but Bunnymund didn’t join in. He found himself looking the frost spirit over, the joy now radiating from the young prince drawing him in like the sweet smell of first spring grass.

Jack’s vestments of dark royalty had melted away like swirls of smoke in the breeze the moment he had stepped out into the light. Now he stood before the pooka attired in tattered remains of clothes that once were fine enough for a prince, but now barely showed their original color and form. His feet were smudged with soot and mud, he was bruised from the fight and his hair stuck to his forehead in dirty clumps, but his eyes were sparkling and his smile was just a touch fierce. 

Bunnymund honestly couldn’t pinpoint when he first had fallen in love with the frost prince, but he had the feeling he was doing it all over again.

“Nah, mate. You’re just fine as is.”

Jack blinked, almost startled, then looked aside with a small smile, both confused and tender. The wind ruffled his hair for a moment, dislodging some black sand, though a healthy dusting of it remained, turning the usual whiteness of the unruly mess into snow-flecked silver.

Snowflake… Silver…

Suddenly remembering, Bunnymund reached into the largest pouch on his belt, and dug around for a moment, before pulling out a hoop of silver.

Jack’s eyes widened. “The crown…”

The spring spirit huffed a little, but his smile was soft and even a little bashful as he rubbed a pawpad over the snowflake at the center of the circlet. Then he held up both hands, to offer the crown to the prince in both palms, ignoring entirely Toothiana’s delighted gasp and the knowing look North and Sandy shared.

The frost spirit stared at the circlet for a long minute, before looking up into the green eyes that were pouring all the hope in the creation at him. His own eyes were a little blurry, probably shining with unshed tears. “It’s not like I was serious about the whole challenge thing… Why did you even…?”

“I had a point that needed making.”

With that, Bunnymund gently lifted the circlet and with the highest care placed it on the prince’s head. Then he let his hands run down along the younger spirit’s temples, claws ever so softly carding through the matted white hair, until he was gently cupping Jack’s face in his hands.

Finally finding himself in this moment, Bunnymund found himself hesitating. So much had happened in such a short time. Were either of them even the same people they were that sunny morning by the stream? 

Jack, noticing the hint of worry in the pooka’s expression, couldn’t help teasing: “Are you afraid to kiss me, Bunny?”

“I’m afraid you’ll break my heart.” the forest guardian replied softly, for a moment looking as timid as the small furry forest creatures he so much resembled.

With a chuckle, the frost prince reached up to run his own fingers through the pooka’s cheek ruff. “Then still your heart, E. Aster Bunnymund. You’re dear to me as life itself.”

And with that, Jack and Bunnymund kissed for the first time, earning a round of cheers (and some dream-sand fireworks) from their friends.

When they parted, a slightly dazed, dreamy look lingered on Jack’s face for a moment, much to Bunnymund’s satisfaction. But in just a moment, there appeared a familiar spark somewhere in the winter prince’s eyes.

“You know,” Jack started deceptively casually, “my father and everyone else at the palace must be worried sick by now.”

The pooka cocked one large ear. “Oh?”

Jack stepped back from the embrace, but his hands slid down to slip into the pooka’s paws. Now there was definitely mischief dancing in the blue eyes. “Yeah. There’s going to be a lot of explaining to do when I get back. And well, once I tell the whole story, I imagine the king will be only too eager to meet the ones who saved his son.”

Bunnymund had to bark a laugh at that. He could just see in his mind’s eye the looks of the king and all the courtiers when the prince appeared with a colorful entourage of forest creatures, looking like he’d been dragged through hell backwards, and hand-in-paw with an equally ruffled looking pooka.

“Are you gonna tell the whole thing about the crown and the challenge and whatnot? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, mate, but that wasn’t your most thought out plan ever.”

“I suppose I have to. You did win the challenge, so my father is pretty much honor bound to give you the promised prize.” Jack tried to mock-pout at the admission, but his grin soon shone through. “Though after everything else that happened, I don’t think he would say no, anyway.”

“Ha ha! A party!” North threw his arms above his head, startling the new couple who had all but forgotten they weren’t alone. 

“Celebrating the prince’s engagement and the second defeat of Pitch Black in one go! This is going to be EPIC!” the giant of a man bellowed with all the remarkable power of his lungs.

Bunnymund glanced at his – dear gods above and below – his fiancé, bit more than fondly exasperated. “Do we really have to invite him?”

“Might as well. You know he’d just crash the party if we didn’t.”

The spring guardian wrapped a long, furry arm around Jack’s waist with a hopeful look. “We could still just elope, right?”

“No such luck for you, Bunny.” Jack grasped the pooka’s paw, tugging eagerly. “Now, let’s go! I still may not be a princess, but I think there’s a half a kingdom in it for you, anyway.”

With a laugh Bunnymund laced their fingers together. “Make it the half with my forest in it, and you got yourself a deal, mate.”

 

THE END


End file.
